A FILTHY Rock Star: a filthy line novel

by Kidman, Jaxson

  I walked off the stage and went to the right to find Liv.

  Jimmy was right behind me, asking what I needed for my room.

  I ignored him.

  Liv was walking toward me and didn’t realize I was there at first.

  When she saw me, she stopped. “What? Nothing worth fucking tonight?”

  All I had to do was grin for her face to turn bright red.

  “I walked into that one,” she said.

  She breezed by me and I took a deep breath, thinking about her body.

  My finger hooking that towel off her… the way she quickly turned.

  But, ah, babe, your favorite rock star loves a nice ass as much as a nice set of tits.

  And fucking hell did Liv have a nice ass on her. The kind with enough to grip, pull and push with…

  I spun around and saw her on her phone, heading for the doors.

  “What am I doing here, Nash?” Jimmy asked.

  I looked down at his hand full of a white powdered bad idea.

  “Last night on the road, Jimmy,” I said. “Go get lost until morning. Tell Toby you can have my room. Anything in there is yours.”

  I walked away, skipping my usual hallway routine.

  I even skipped the backstage party.

  Tonight, there were two stripper poles and a disco ball that changed colors.

  And tonight, we demanded thirty-two inflatable unicorns floats.

  Just for the fuck of it.

  I kicked open the back door to the arena and looked around for a ride.

  We usually just took the bus to the hotel.

  Bill stood outside the door, smoking a cigarette, scrolling on his phone.

  “Porn?” I asked.

  “Nah, some game,” he said.

  “I need a lift to the hotel,” I said.

  Bill tucked his phone into his pocket and flicked his cigarette away. “Consider it done.”

  * * *

  I scanned the keycard and the lock opened.

  Fuck invasion of privacy.

  Liv was on my tour and this was part of it.

  I walked through the hotel room in the same clothes I had worn on stage.

  “Where are you?” I called out.

  My eye looked to the messy bed. The sheets pulled back, pillows indented with Liv’s head and hair. Clothes tossed around.

  I curled my lip.

  “Nash?”

  I looked over my shoulder and Liv was coming out of the bathroom, a hand towel wiping her face.

  “You’re… what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be deep in some woman who you don’t even know her name?”

  “I’m not leaving until you tell me who broke your heart, babe.”

  “What?” Liv asked. “The coke snorting, whiskey sipping, panty collecting rock star is worried about some guy who hurt me?”

  “Not some guy,” I said. “He was the guy.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “You used my song for him.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  I slowly turned and stepped toward her.

  The gray shirt and black pants were worse for me than all the coke and whiskey in the world.

  “Better yet, why does that bother you?” she asked.

  I had officially stepped out of my own element.

  These precious hours after a show were saved for strippers and pussy.

  Not this shit.

  Yet I couldn’t help myself.

  “I changed the setlist for you,” I said. “Now I need to know why I did that.”

  Liv slowly shook her head. “Okay. Fine. Dillon.”

  “Dillon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was his name?”

  “Yeah. Dillon Raegon.”

  “And?”

  “And what, Nash?”

  “How old?”

  “Are you going to tell me about your first love?”

  “I’ve never had one yet,” I said. “And this guy was your first love. He popped your cherry, huh?”

  “Again, another poetic way of saying something… amazing you write songs for a living.”

  I stepped closer to her. “Anything poetic and lyrical I have to say to you about your pussy, babe, I’ll do it with my tongue while I’m down there.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Uh…”

  I stepped back and raided the minibar. I twisted off all the caps and lined up the bottles.

  “You know how much that costs?” she asked.

  “I’m good for it,” I said. “Toby will be pissed at you though.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Talk,” I said.

  Liv surprised me when she grabbed two bottles and drank them whole. Not that there was much in each bottle, but still… the way her throat just took it…

  “Yes, he was my first everything,” she confessed. “We met in eighth grade. I was the new girl and he was the tough boy. One of his friends tripped me in the hallway and he broke the kid’s nose.”

  “Why my song?”

  “I don’t know, Nash. You guys were my favorite band when everything went bad.”

  “What about now? Who’s your favorite band?”

  Liv rolled her eyes. “Filthy Line.”

  “Drink again,” I said.

  Liv took another two bottles. She downed them like the first.

  “That bad, huh?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what you want out of this, Nash. I’m tired. Like really tired. I just want to go home.”

  “We’re playing our homecoming show tomorrow, babe,” I said. “And we booked a hotel for the hell of it.”

  “So?”

  “You have a room waiting.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” I said. “No choice. You never know what I might do.”

  “Sometimes you make it easy to hate you.”

  “Do you hate me as much as you hate Dillon?” I asked.

  “Maybe more,” she teased.

  I curled my lip. “What did he do?”

  She laughed. “I thought it was a forever thing. He didn’t. Nothing else to say.”

  “And that made you cry?”

  “The song did,” she said. “Just brought back a lot of memories. I haven’t heard it in a while. And it sounded really amazing like that. Acoustic. It was really good.”

  “I know it’s really good,” I said. “I wrote it. What does it mean to you?”

  “He was fucking around behind my back,” she said. “I wanted to pay for my own college and I had to go somewhere two hours away. Okay? He would fuck around and then call me and tell me he loved me. And I bought it. I surprised him one night by coming back a day early and he wasn’t alone.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Yeah. I left and your song came on. It just… that was the song. I listened to it to get over him.”

  “You still love him?”

  “I’m not answering that, Nash. The song meant a lot to me. That was it. I heard it. Things weighed down on me. You saw me cry. Big fucking deal.”

  She took a step and I blocked her way. “You should have fucked around behind his back. And stuck it to him.”

  “Thanks for that advice. I’m an adult. I moved on.”

  “Doesn’t seem that way.”

  She shook her head. “And here I thought you were going to say something nice to me. Just leave, Nash. You got your story. Go find your Line Whore for the night.”

  “Mind if I grab a quick shower?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Yeah, sure, have at it. You want to strut around naked? Yawn. I’ll be asleep. I’m tired. And now I feel a little drunk.”

  I closed in on her once more and touched her cheek. The smell of sweat and the show oozed off my body.

  I slowly brushed the tip of my nose against hers.

  “A little drunk… that’s when the truth comes out, babe.”

  “Okay, babe,” she whispered. “Here’s the truth. You smell like ass. And I’m tired. So go jerk off in the showe
r and leave my room.”

  I brought my lips down near hers, leaving almost no space.

  I sucked in a breath and walked away to the bathroom.

  My cock raged with a wild force. I was damn uncomfortable. In a way I wasn’t used to. Even when I took off my jeans, I stood there and stared at my full dick in the mirror. Pointing straight out. If I turned, I would have swiped everything off the bathroom counter.

  I took an ice cold shower to calm myself.

  Asking her the story about her ex was a bad idea. Now more than ever I wanted to throw her on the bed and take her. Make the untouchable groan my name as she spilled her sweet honey all over my cock and the bedsheets. I could watch my new contract burn but that would be okay. My tongue would flicker so hard against her clit I’d start a fire that could never be put out.

  I wrapped a towel around myself, still half hard, leaving my clothes behind as I left the bathroom.

  My fist was balled up tight around the towel.

  I made it a few steps and saw Liv in bed.

  Sleeping.

  She was amazing.

  And that word just slipped in there like a little bit of regret.

  A beautiful woman like Liv able to fall asleep knowing I was butt ass naked in the shower, hard as a rock.

  Well played, babe… well fucking played…

  I walked to the bed and reached down, stroking her cheek with the backs of my fingers. I watched my cock throb, pressing against the inside of the towel. If I just leaned forward enough… IT would touch her face…

  I sucked in a deep breath and stroked her cheek again.

  I walked out of her hotel room wearing nothing but the towel from her bathroom.

  A smile crept along my face.

  Well fucking played, Liv…

  * * *

  It was called A Filthy Homecoming.

  Anything to sell a t-shirt or a fucking poster, right?

  I stayed in the back of the bus and worked on a few songs, even long after the bus stopped. The last thing on my mind was a mindless interview. Some wannabe tough guy with chains around his neck and rings on his fingers, with messy long hair and a point to prove digging at the band looking for dirt that’s already been spread across the city time and time again.

  I listened to Left Away about ten times. Picking apart my own lyrics as if there was some cryptic message or memory in them. But that wasn’t the case at all. I knew what the song was about and what it meant. Even if it meant something completely different to Liv. Her breakup song. And I was the one obsessed with it.

  When I finally put that goddamn song to bed for good, I worked on the new material. It was still really raw but it had the sound. We needed to get into the studio, and soon. We needed to get these tracks down and start figuring out what we wanted to do and say with the music.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Sab said as he walked into the room. “Fucking guy is out there waiting.”

  “Here?”

  “Toby wanted to do it on the bus.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “So we can control the story,” Sab said with air quotes.

  I stood up and grabbed my dick. “Control this.”

  “I don’t think you can control that, bro,” Sab said. He leaned against the wall. “Speaking of which… I’m taking it you crossed the line?”

  “What line?”

  “The untouchable writer.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Bullshit,” Sab said. “You took off after the show. Just give me a heads up if I need to start looking for another gig.”

  I curled my lip. “Yeah. Go do that, Sab. Go play with your fucking side project.”

  “I’m breaking your stones a little,” Sab said. “Calm the fuck down. Just try to keep it all under wraps.”

  “I’m not fucking her,” I said.

  “There’s a set of words I never thought I’d hear you say,” Sab said.

  I grabbed a joint off the desk and lit it up.

  I walked to the front of the bus where the young guy stood with two bags on his shoulders, thick black glasses, and the look of awe on his face.

  “Nash,” he said. He stuck his hand out.

  I nodded and shook his hand. I took a hit off the joint and offered it to him.

  I was surprised when he took it.

  But I knew the game.

  Play cool and casual. Play friendly. Wait for me to slip up.

  “Mind if I record this?” he asked.

  “What else are you doing here?”

  “Right,” he said. “I’m Devin.”

  Kind of like Dillon…

  I gritted my teeth.

  Fuck me, that name was still rolling through my head.

  “You guys are coming off the last little bit of your tour,” Devin said.

  I cut in. “Tonight’s the last show. Right here at home.”

  “And new material?”

  “There’s always new material.”

  “But how serious is it?”

  “Meaning?” I asked.

  “There’s a difference between jotting down ideas and actual recording.”

  Sab pointed a drumstick at Devin. “High school drummer. Right? But someone got a girl pregnant and the band fell apart.”

  Devin shook his head. “Guitar.”

  “And who got who pregnant?” Sab asked.

  “Bassist,” Devin said. “Fucked the lead singer’s girlfriend and knocked her up. At seventeen.”

  “Jesus,” Jay said. “Well done.”

  “Look, we always write music,” I said. “Some works and some doesn’t. We’ve been recording on the road.”

  “Right here on the bus,” Dex said.

  “Anything good?” Devin asked.

  “Are you suggesting our music is shit?” I asked.

  “No,” Devin said. He paused. “So the track record of the band.”

  “Clean as a freshly waxed pussy,” Reed said with a wink.

  “There’s a t-shirt,” Devin said as he laughed. “You guys have a reputation.”

  “Keeps life interesting,” I said.

  “It does. And the rumors about the baddest tour ever?”

  Jay moved his hand and grabbed my shoulder.

  I passed the joint to him and shook his hand away. “Say that again, Devin.”

  “The rumors. There was an offer on the table. A tour. Contract. I heard worldwide tour too. The biggest tour. The two baddest bands…”

  “Not even close,” Sab said. “Next question.”

  “Where did that come from then?” Devin asked, pushing back at us.

  “Some little punk asshole looking to make a name for himself,” Reed said.

  “I really think we should talk about the music,” Dex said.

  “No, no,” I said. “Let the man ask his questions. Just ask it, man.”

  “The history between Filthy Line and Raunchy Recks has been documented. But there’s another side to it.”

  “Is there?” I asked.

  “Of course there is. But before I get there, the tour… I heard figures in excess of-”

  I reached forward and grabbed his phone off the table.

  “This is a nice phone,” I said. “New one?”

  “Nash…”

  “Shit,” Jay said.

  I threw the phone against the window behind Devin. It bounced and flew back at us. Devin dove for it and I casually threw a punch, hitting him in the nose. I then stomped on his phone until it was a broken mess.

  But I wasn’t done yet.

  I turned and pulled at the table.

  Then in a blur… Liv burning in my mind…

  I trashed the bus.

  I broke tables, glasses, bottles, and managed to break one of the windows.

  Devin took off, which was a smart move.

  The guys left me alone, which, again, was a smart move.

  When I left the bus, Bill stood there, smoking a cigarette.

  “Sorry about the bus,�
� I said.

  “No worries, Nash,” he said. “They’ll give me a new one to drive.”

  “You get it, Bill. You fucking get it.”

  He patted my arm as I walked by.

  I looked forward and saw Liv standing with Toby.

  Her eyes moved to the side and met mine.

  I grabbed my dick again.

  Spin this, Liv…

  Except there was one big problem here.

  The only thing spinning was my fucking heart.

  10

  OLIVIA

  The tour bus is sacred. While the stories of excess and sex may pour from the narrow door, the truth is that most of us never really understand what the tour bus means. What actually happens on the bus, when you have five creative minds and souls all colliding together, speeding along a deserted highway, racing toward another city for another show.

  That’s why… the tour bus is sacred.

  To be invited onto the tour bus means you’re stepping into another world. And maybe it’s cliché to say rules and laws need not apply, but cliché this… someone trying to make a name for themselves off the back of rumors that serve no purpose other than to cause problems.

  Maybe our pasts never leave us. Maybe they linger around like the last few breaths of a long day. When you’re watching darkness climb across the sky, praying for a few stars to wish upon, but they never show that night. That’s what the past is. Moments. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Like being on the other side of a thick glass. One where you can see but can’t touch. That’s the past.

  So I ask, what’s the point of bringing that up? What’s the point of asking questions that have been asked before? Why can’t someone think of something new? Here, let me offer a list…

  ‘What’s the chemistry like in the band after all these years?’

  ‘Before the arena fills up and you stare at all the empty seats, what goes through your mind?’

  ‘What was the craziest thing you ever demanded to be available backstage?’

  I could make a bigger list but that’s not the point.

  The tour bus is sacred.

  What happens in there can’t be replaced.

  A cell phone can.

  A window can.

  And while again it might be cliché to say nobody got hurt… well, nobody got hurt. And when you’re told not to ask a question and you ask it… well… you just broke something sacred.